


Love Me Tender

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: NSFW Yurio Week 2017 [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A poor attempt at david lynch-esque surrealism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Choking, M/M, Mpreg, Rimming, Wild At Heart AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: Yuri can hear him flip the Zippo lighter open. He can smell the flash of butane followed by the acrid scent of smoke, but he can’t see Otabek even though he’s right in front of him. His vision is blurry, and it feels like he’s getting choked out by a mildewed white mink collar. He’s got to get out of there, because if he’s hearing this right, he fucking lost Otabek for two years because he turned Victor’s old busted ass down.Later in the motel room he asks...No, he demands that Otabek be rough with him. He grabs both of Otabek’s hands and presses them down onto his chest.For nsfw yurioweek 2017





	Love Me Tender

“You’re not going to see him are you?” Yuri can feel the terror in Victor’s voice as he speaks. He’s probably clutching at his prized white mink collar right now, scratching at his skin with perfect clear coated nails. “After what he did?” Yuri can hear the clink of Victor’s martini glass clink against the glass top table in the breakfast nook at home.

“I’m waiting at the jail right now,” Yuri smirks into the receiver on his phone.  It’s way too cold outside to have the top down, but he does anyway. How can he _not?_ It’s way too cold to have the top down _and_ be dressed like he is. He’s got his favorite leopard print tube top on, and the skin tight black jeans that Otabek always hated when he wore outside of the house.

“He killed a man right in front of me,” Victor responds dryly. “Did you forget? I don’t see how you could’ve. You were right there too screaming his name like a banshee the whole time. Victor’s voice goes high pitched in imitation of Yuri, and it’s real fucking funny because Yuri’s got the deeper voice as it is.  “Beka, Beka.’’

Victor’s panic makes Yuri’s mouth pull into a grin.  “I took your car too,” Yuri says as he runs his hand along the dash. His fingers brush against hot pink enamel and lacquered wood on the interior. Then, he hangs up the phone.

Yuri drops his IPhone onto the other seat and picks up his bowie knife, the one that Otabek got him before he went in. It has a long sharp blade and Yuri holds it lackadaisically letting the sun catch and shine on the blade.

It’s not without purpose however. He made sure to get off his suppressants before Beka came home. He knows that Beka likes him natural, “unfettered,” he calls it. He can feel the irksome pressure at the base of his spine. He’s being watched by at least one alpha. He can feel the low rolling waves crash against his stomach. He’s at least one day into his heat.

Yuri’s writhing around on the hood of the car like one of the models in the music videos him and Otabek used to put on in the background to drown out the noise while they fucked at Victor’s house. That’s when he sees him.

Otabek looks naked standing there in a white t-shirt, no leather jacket. He looks lost without Yuri there beside him.

“Beka!” and he’s running toward him, bowie knife still in hand.

Otabek’s whole fucking face lights up, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Fuck everybody that told him he wasn’t worth waiting for. “Yura!” Otabek picks him up and spins him around. The bowie knife clatters to the ground as Otabek’s arms encircle his waist. He doesn’t need it anymore. He doesn’t need anything else. He has his Beka.

Kissing Otabek feels different now. Before his lips were chapped and often split open from fights. Now his mouth is smooth. There’s one thing that’s still the same though. Otabek kisses him like it’s their first and their last all in one. It’s romantic when he tilts his head back and makes him swoon. It’s sexy as fuck when he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue inside of Yuri’s mouth.

“Brought you something Babe,” Yuri husks when the kiss is broken.

“What is it?” Otabek’s hands trail down to his ass and squeeze hard, like that’s his fucking surprise.

Yuri gestures to the car, and Otaek carries him there unwilling to break contact. Otabek puts him down, and Yuri extracts Otabek’s leather jacket from the back seat.

“You brought it!” And no sooner than Otabek has it slung over his shoulders, he’s being swept up into another kiss.

* * *

“Victor,” Yuuri’s got his silk tie balled up into his fist pulling him close. Their mouths are only inches away from one another. “I don’t understand why this is needed. Yurio can make his own choices. Let him be stupid. Let him make mistakes.”

Victor can’t decide if he wants to give in and kiss him, or slap him across the face. It doesn’t matter though. Yuuri would love either one.  That’s one of the reasons why he loves Yuri. Yuri doesn’t just go along with whatever scheme he’s concocted. He accentuates it, makes it his own. If he tells him to bring Yuri home, he’ll take it one step further and deliver him with a bow.

Instead of indulging Yuuri in ether a kiss or a slap, he opts to leave Yuuri hanging. Despite the tight knot chocking him around his neck, Victor still drains his martini. He tosses the glass to the ground and it shatters.

“Mistakes? He’s run away with a murder!”

“Manslaughter,” Yuuri corrects.

“He took the Cadillac Yuuri!” Victor moans.

At that, Yuuri’s entire expression changes.

“I can’t fuck you in the Cadillac if it’s gone Yuuri!” Victor whines. “Go out there and bring my kitten home!”

He says this while smashing Yuuri’s face into his mink collar. He says this while palming Yuuri’s dick through his slacks. Victor knows how to get what he wants. He wants Yuri back. He wants Altin dead. He carries too many secrets.

* * *

“You smell like you’re in heat.” Otabek’s tone is dry. His eyes are half lidded. A cigarette burns between his fingers. He’s too fucking calm right now despite the fact that Yuri’s gagging on his cock and stinking up the place with pheromones.

The motel room is dark, but the purple and blue lights from the club next door trickle in through the parted blinds. Otabek’s features are blurred in the harsh neon light, but Yuri doesn’t have to see him to know that he’s beautiful.

Yuri pulls off of his cock with a pop. A long thin strand of saliva stretches between the tip of Otabek’s cock and his mouth. He knows not to confuse Otabek’s lack of response with a lack of enthusiasm. He can see Otaek’s cock, and the response is clear.  His knot is already starting to flare out a little bit at the base. “I am,” he huffs. “I wanted to be ready for you.”  

“Well Yura,” Otabek pulls him up so that he’s sitting on his lap. He can feel his cock poke against his slick hole, and it feels so damn good. “Are you ready?”

“So ready.” Yuri hopes that Beka doesn’t hear the way that he stumbles over his words when he responds. It’s just that Beka is so cool, and he’s missed him so much. Yuri pushes him down onto the bed and sinks on his cock. “Ah, fuck Beka,” Yuri purrs. “I forgot how big you were.”

“Easy baby,” Otabek smirks up at him, and it’s just not fair the way that Otabek can tug on his heartstrings and his cock all at once. “Ride slow.”

“No,” Yuri bounces up and down on Otabek’s cock as quickly as he can. “Fucking,” how can Otabek say something like that after almost two years? “Way,” he can feel the catch and the drag of Otabek’s knot already, but it doesn’t matter. He wants it. He’s greedy for it. “How the fuck can you be so calm?” Yuri keeps moving. Yuri splays his hands across Otabek’s chest and rides onward, forward. “I waited so fucking long for this, Beka fuck-“

Otabek’s hands fly to his hips. “If you think this is calm, you’re wrong Yura.” Otabek flips them over. Before he knows what’s going on, he’s staring at the slow oscillating celling fan, and it’s such a sharp contrast to the way that Otabek pounds into him.

Otabek doesn’t care how big it’s getting. He keeps going, and it keeps stretching him wide.  

Otabek pins him down to the mattress, and all he can do is grip the sheets, and grit his teeth. It’s so fucking good, it’s not fair.

“I hold back because I don’t want to hurt you. Because I don’t want to break you.” His voice is steady and unwavering as he moves. “I waited just as long as you.” Otabek hooks his hands underneath his thighs and pushes his legs backwards. Otabek, somehow buries himself deeper. “Yura, every second I’m near is an exercise in control. Don’t make me lose it.”

* * *

It takes almost three hours for Otabek’s knot to go down. It doesn’t help that every time it might be getting softer, Yuri pushes his ass back against it and gets Otabek hard again. It doesn’t help that Otabek has really good stamina as it is.

Otabek _stays_ on top and pounds into him until his voice is raw from screaming and his eyes are blurry from crying out in a mixture of joy and pain. When Otabek’s quelled the fire within, and replaced it with a dull ache, Otabek flips him over so that he’s on his side. Then, he makes love to him real slow, and real sweet.

It’s just like back when they first met and Yuri disappeared to Otabek’s apartment for three days. Victor called the fucking cops.

The only reason they part is because Yuri’s starving, and they have to get something to eat or else he’ll die.

Yuri doesn’t even take a shower. He just throws on his old underwear, and walks out of the motel room sticky between the legs and reeking of Otabek.

They walk hand in hand down to the Waffle House on the corner. It feels good to have his hand linked in Otabek’s heavy gloved one.

It rained while they were in the motel room, and everything is wet and shiny. The black asphalt and moonlight act like a blurred mirror where light bounces off the edges and fades into the black of night. The world smells of petrichor and Otabek, and Otabek keeps the demons that hide in the shadows at bay. Everything is the way that it should be.

Until it isn’t.

Victor’s fucking Piggy emerges from the shadows. His tone is soft, and he doesn’t do anything rash like pull a knife or a gun, but Yuri still knows that he’s nothing but fucking trouble. Nothing good comes from Yuuri Katsuki dressed in a three piece suit that actually fits. It means that Victor picked it out, and it means that Victor and his unending martini glass aren’t far behind. “It’s time to come home Yurio.”

“Fuck off.”

“We can take a bath together.” Yuuri smiles, and for a split second, Yuri almost feel something like genuine emotion there.  There is a friendly affection for him, and a hint of all the good times. Like, for a moment he was awoken from whatever kind of twisted fever dream that he feels for Victor. “We can eat Katsudon together.”

Yuri’s totally and completely fucked up brain conjures up an image of soggy waterlogged Katsudon smashed into the stone flooring of the onsen. Yuri’s totally and completely fucked up brain conjures up an image of him and Yuuri stomping on the food with bare feet underneath moonlight.

Then, he can feel Otabek tense up beside him, and it drags him back into reality.  Yuri’s just got him back. He’s not doing anything to risk Beka. So he steps in and kicks at Yuuri Katsuki with a spiked heel. It lands right in his fat gut. Yuuri doesn’t go down right away. He kicks him again, landing a blow on the cheek.

Then, Yuuri goes down onto the pavement.

“Don’t give us anymore trouble. Okay fuck face?” Yuri lights up a cigarette, and then he waits for Otabek to grab him by the elbow and escort him the rest of the way to the Waffle House.

Under the harsh neon lights of the Waffle House interior, Yuri picks a hair out of his eggs, and grinds a cigarette butt into his toast. Suddenly, he’s lost his appetite.

“Victor knows you’re seeing me?” Otabek says into his mug of black coffee.

“Of fucking course that controlling asshole knows.” Yuri pushes his hair out of his face and reaches for another cigarette from Otabek’s pack.

“Seems a little extreme,” he notes. “To send someone after me like that just cause we’re together.” Otabek clenches his jaw, and licks his lips anxiously, and that makes Yuri perk the fuck up. It means Otabek is about to cough up some kind of info that’s gonna make his blood run hot. Gonna wanna make him wish he’d done a lot worse than kick Piggy in the gut. “He propositioned me the night it all happened.”

Yuri can feel his jaw go slack. That mother fucker.

Otabek isn’t surprised that he’s surprised. He just keeps talking in the low and steady timbre that makes his asshole twitch and his cock jump.

“Came up behind me in the men’s room. Tried to grab my dick through my jeans. Never got the chance to tell you that.”

Yuri can hear him flip the Zippo lighter open. He can smell the flash of butane followed by the acrid scent of smoke, but he can’t see Otabek even though he’s right in front of him. His vision is blurry, and it feels like he’s getting choked out by a mildewed white mink collar. He’s got to get out of there, because if he’s hearing this right, he fucking lost Otabek for two years because he turned Victor’s old busted ass down.

Yuri gets up from the table and knocks over his glass of ice water. He feels raindrops splatter against his face. He can feel Otabek struggle to keep up with him as he races down the sidewalk, but none of it really registers. Everything feels out of body, and he doesn’t come back until Otabek’s got him slammed up against the wall of the motel room and has his cock buried deep inside of him.

He asks, no…He demands that Otabek be rough with him. He grabs both of Otabek’s hands and presses them down onto his chest.

Otabek asks him without words, “are you sure?” Otabek asks him with his body. He relents on his brutal pace. He raises a single brow in question.

Yuri responds with words, and they’re tense and choppy, “Fucking do it.”

So Otabek places his hands around his neck, presses his weight against him, and tightens his grasp around Yuri’s neck.  

* * *

That night Yuri dreams of his sixteenth birthday gala. He’s wearing this amazing magenta colored romper that he bought when he was out with Mila. Otabek keeps sneaking him flutes of champagne throughout the night keeping him on the precipice of sober and tipsy. Otabek slips everybody on the kitchen staff a $20 and fucks him bent over a keg of beer down in the wine cellar.

 Walking out of the venue, they’re approached by this chicken nugget looking mother fucker with a snaggletooth. He comes at them with a knife drawn, and Otabek just fucking loses it. His nostrils flair, and his jaw clenches tight, and Yuri sees veins pop up on his forehead that he’s never seen before.

In reality, Otabek beat him until his face was so fucked up he had to have a closed casket funeral.

In his dream, Minami lunges at them both and rips out their jugulars with his snaggle tooth. Blood runs down his face, and he has to watch Otabek suffer while he bleeds out. He dips chicken nuggets in their blood.

* * *

Yuri wakes up to the feeling of Otabek’s fingers threaded in his hair, and the sound of his rough but concerned voice. “Yura, Yura please wake up.”

“Beka,” his voice is rough from Otabek choking him out earlier, but that kind of tone makes him feel like such a fucking loser. He moves to reach for Otaek, but immediately regrets it. He can feel Otabek’s now soft cock slip out of his ass, and he whines in protest at the loss of contact. “Beka, please.”

Strong arms wrap around him, and he’s enveloped by Otabek’s strong and comforting scent: rosemary balm for his perpetually sore muscles, and leather from his jacket. “Let’s get out of here Yura.”

“You’re on parole,” Yuri responds.

“Forget it,” Otabek argues. “After what happened tonight, it’s only going to get worse. Let’s get the bike, and let’s get out of here.”

“The bike?” Yuri loves the bike, but he stole Victor’s Cadillac fair and square.

“I can’t violate parole in a stolen car Yura.”

“Oh. I guess that’s true,” Yuri agrees.

The back of the bike is equal parts pleasure and agony. He loves being so close to Otabek. He loves doing nothing else other than smelling his strong scent for hours on end. He loves the way the wind whips them so hard that it blasts through his nose and his mouth and his ears and he can’t think of anything at all.

He hates the way the bike rumbles and gets him all hot and bothered. He hates that no matter how much he tries to push his dick up against Otabek, Otabek won’t do anything about it except tell him to stop moving around. Otabek gets so damn focused when he’s riding, and that only turns Yuri on more.

The wind rakes across his skin, and even in his riding clothes, he feels so exposed. He feels like he’s spreading his scent down every mile of road they tear across. He _likes_ that. He wants every alpha around to know that Otabek does this to him.

Otabek pulls over at a rest stop, and pushes him into a dirty restroom stall.

Otabek is a gentleman of course. He cradles his face in his hands so that Yuri doesn’t rub his cheek against the sallow bathroom tiles. Otabek kisses the big ugly thumbprints on his neck.  He whispers, “love you Plisetsky,” as he slides in his first finger. He smiles at him, and flicks his wrist _just_ right hitting the spot over and over again.

Otabek fingers him until he’s crying, but no matter how much he begs, “Beka please,” he never gives him his knot. It’s almost worse than if than if they hadn’t stopped at all.

Afterward, Otabek buys him a cherry coke and a Payday. For a second, Yuri can’t think of anything nicer.

It’s well after midnight when they pull into a city that Yuri knows he’s never been in before. Except, it feels so familiar. The lights look blurry, and everything smells like mildew. Tension and trouble lurk behind every possible door, and he knows that feeling best of all.

Otabek kills the bike outside a windowless nondescript building.

Yuri immediately recognizes by the sight of broken glass and faded graffiti that it’s the kind of place omegas don’t go into alone… If you ever want to make it out. “Up for a night out?” But he knows that Otabek’s already decided for the both of them.

“Lemme fix my face.” Yuri leans into the bike’s side mirror, and he makes Otabek hold his zippo open so he can retouch his cherry red lipstick by the orange blue light.

Inside the club, the drum and base thrum and pulse in time with the persistent waves of his heat. Yuri isn’t particularly itching to do anything other than fuck, but there’s no way in hell he could ever say no to Otabek. Through the alternating colors of the club lights: pink, yellow, and blue, he can feel every eye in the club turn to him.

Yuri’s got on his opaque white knee highs, and the high wasted shorts that he bought when he was on vacation last year. They ride up high and show off his ass cheeks just the way that Beka likes. He’s wearing his riding gloves that Otabek got him. They only go halfway up his fingers, and make him look like a badass too.

Although Yuri would much rather be face down in set of scratchy motel sheets right now, he’s never been one of those omegas that hide away during their heat. He’s going to conquer the fucking world, and _then_ Otabek’s gonna fuck him real good.

Otabek leads him straight to the sound booth, and taps the DJ on the shoulder. It’s not the kind of thing that Yuri expects after a few days of nothing but fist fighting and fucking on the road. But he supposes that if that’s all it was, it’d get real boring real fast.  

The guy looks like he’s half asleep. His long shaggy brown hair covers his barely open eyes. When he sees Otabek his face lights up, and they do that awkward kind of alpha meets acceptable alpha slap hug that he doesn’t understand. “Leo,” he can hear the thunder of Otabek’s voice above all the other noises in the club. “Good to see you.”

The DJ turns to him, and screams into his ear over the hum of the music, “do you bake your own bread?”

Yuri pulls back confused. The DJ pulls him forward and yells into his ear again. “You look like the kind of person that bakes.”

Okay, what the fuck ever.

The DJ finishes out the song, and immediately lets Otabek take over.

Even over the high distortion and the slowed down tempo, Yuri recognizes the song instantly. Otabek fucked Yuri to the raw and exotic vocals and the pulsing beat when he was just fifteen and they rode down to Victor’s lake house. Otabek blew out the speakers, and then he fucking blew Yuri’s mind. He ate him out until he was completely sloppy, and then fucked into him so hard that he saw stars.

It brings a blush to his face, but Yuri’s heat ridden body won’t let him blush an act coy. Immediately he climbs up onto one of the many raised dance platforms in the club, and he dances for Otabek and Otabek alone. He can feel all sorts of eyes upon him, but only Otabek’s tear away his clothes and make him feel naked on the dance floor.

Yuri steals furtive glances of him whenever he can. He looks so good dripping with sweat, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He doesn’t look relaxed, not by a longshot. But he’s diferent when he’s focused on something that isn’t kicking ass. He’s natural. Simple. Goddamn, he’s in love.

Otabek sets everything to loop, and he joins him on the dance floor. Otabek eye fucks him at a distance, and then crowds into his space. Yuri extends one arm to him, and Otabek rips off one of his gloves. Yuri offers him the other, and he peels it off with his teeth.

Fuck.

* * *

“Darling,” Victor gasps. He tugs lightly at Chris tight blond curls. Victor must admit that he’s quite alluring when he’s like this, but there’s important work to be done. “Darling please, watch the beard.” He’s buried between Victor’s thighs and even though no one can eat him out better than Chris can, he’s in no mood to explain his beard burn away to Yuuri.

“Hiding something from someone?” And at that Chris rakes the coarse hairs on his face across the soft skin of Victor’s thighs.

“Never.”

“But you are mon chou,” and Chris ups the ante by sinking his teeth into the soft flesh.

Victor mewls, and playfully slaps Chris’ back. “I want you to have something to look forward to when you’re done with your job. Go bring my boy home and you can have anything that you want.”

“If I get my hands on him Victor dearest, you’re never getting him back.”

* * *

Otabek sends the button on his shorts flying across the motel room.

Otabek latches down onto his already bruised up neck and sucks hard. His neck fucking aches, but he doesn’t dare for a minute stop Otabek. Let him mark him. Let him bite him so hard that the skin tears. Let it scar over even, fuck. Let the whole fucking world know that he belongs to Otabek, and Otabek alone.

Otabek rips the buttons off his shirt like they’re Velcro, and god he fucking loves it when he acts like this. Otabek is cool personified, but sometimes he’s not just cool, he’s cold. He had a lot of fucking nerve leaving Yuri hanging in the rest stop bathroom earlier. He had a lot of fucking nerve making him get back onto the bike with a wet spot on his jeans.

But right now, Otabek burns hot. Right now, Otabek threatens to make him boil over. Otabek takes one of his nipples in his mouth and sucks on it hard.

Yuri moans into the contact, because he loves watching Otabek touch his body most of all. Otabek is unwavering, but he’ll bend at the knee and worship Yuri. Otabek moves onto his other nipple with his mouth, and pinches the other between his fingers.

“I’m like a salve for your scars Beka. I’m good for your soul. Lemme take care of you.”  He thought of that on the back of the bike today. He thought it was really cool.

“You say the strangest things when you’re in heat Yura.”

“Tell me what part isn’t true?”

Otabek doesn’t say anything in response. Otabek marks him up all down his body, and slides his fingers inside his already slick hole.

“I don’t want your fingers.” He’s done nothing but make him wait. “I want your cock.”

“Yeah but,” Otabek takes his throbbing hard cock into his mouth at once, and Yuri almost cums right then and there. He bobs on his cock once, twice, three times letting him get used to the sensation before pulling off of him. “What do you need Yura?”

“Your fucking cock!” Yuri shouts. He playfully tries to kick at Otabek’s head, but that makes it worse.

Otabek sucks on his toes, and tells him, “you’re so pretty Yura. I can’t just _fuck_ you.”

 “Beka,” now’s as good a time as any, which is to say, it was never a good time. “Why come you didn’t play, _Moments in Love_ for me earlier at the club? You always said that was your favorite love song.”

Otabek slides up his body and gives him a big sloppy open mouthed kiss. Then, he shoots him the big goofy grin that Otabek keeps in a jar and saves for rainy days. It’s for him and him alone, which means he hasn’t smiled at anyone like that in almost two years. “I’m only gonna play that song for the man I marry.” Then, without another word, Otabek turns him over and slaps his ass so hard he jerks a few inches up the mattress. Otabek laughs. It’s deep, and it’s booming, and he slaps his ass again before sliding inside.

Otabek slams into him over and over again and each time Yuri waits for the familiar stretch and pull of his knot, but it never comes. “Beka, you’re so mean to me.”

“I could fuck you all night Yura, I can’t help it.”

“You can still fuck me all night with your knot, asshole.” Only when Yuri’s sobbing, and begging in an incoherent stream of “please Beka,” does it finally come. When it comes, it doesn’t stop. Yuri can feel his insides get wet, he can feel it leak out around them when Otabek moves him to his side and fucks him again.

Otabek moves him to the window, and fucks him with his chest pressed against cold glass. They watch the sun come up together that way. It’s really romantic.

* * *

Yuri stands before the very window that Otabek fucked him up against smoking the last of Otabek’s Winston’s. His eyes are burning from drinking, and he feels like his head is scrambled with radio static, but he isn’t gonna lay down until Otabek is right here back by his side.

The lace nightie he threw on scratches against his puffy nipples and his numerous hickies. His body doesn’t feel like his own, but he supposes that’s normal during a heat.

Yuri crosses and uncrosses his eyes as he stairs out the window. In the smudges on the glass from sweat, and sticky skin, he can see in some foreign and untranslated language, written out in tight neat letters the exact way he’s gonna die. Next year. Nineteen years old. Smothered with a piece of white mink fur.

Yuri uncrosses his eyes just as a man with dirty blonde curls approaches Otabek. Although he can’t say that he’s seen the man before, seeing them cross paths makes his stomach drop instantaneously.

The blonde comes at him with a switchblade. Otabek dodges, and knocks him straight in the nose. The assailant comes back, and grazes him with the blade across the cheek with his knife. Otabek drops him, but Yuri doesn’t even scream. He did watch him kill a man once after all.

Otabek comes back to the room right after with a fresh pack of Winston’s and blood across his fists.

Yuri watches Otabek rinse off the blood in the sink. He watches with rapt fascination as the water goes from dark red, to pink, to clear. As soon as it’s clear, Yuri’s stomach drops. He’s standing over the toilet and retching.

He probably drank too much last night.

* * *

Otabek’s cousin has a cabin out in the mountains, and Yuri has a key from the time they went up there for a long weekend. Never thought to give it back.  They fucked on the bearskin rug in the den, and Otabek caught them fish which they ate for dinner. Looking back on it, maybe those were the best few days of Yuri’s life. Everything seemed so peaceful, and it seemed as if there was no one left on earth except for the two of them.

Otabek wants to stay there for a few days so that Yuri can rest, but the going is real slow. Yuri’s heat ends, but his body still doesn’t feel like his own. His feet feel heavy, and his mind feels cloudy. One afternoon when the sun is high in the sky and pummeling them with her rays, Yuri almost falls off the bike at a four way stop.

Otabek makes him drink two bottles of water, and demands to know what’s wrong.

Yuri tells him, “I don’t fucking know.” When in reality, he doesn’t want to think about it. He keeps retching in rest stop bathrooms, and when they’re at stop lights and the exhaust smell is inescapable. His pants feel tighter, and he always feels like he’s fucking bloated. He fucking knows what’s wrong.

* * *

They make to the cabin only to find it occupied by its owner. That fucking sucks…Honestly he just wanted some time with Otabek where they weren’t busting ass, or hauling ass across the country. He wants time to think and to feel with Otabek.

Yuri’s stomach goes sour when he sees the cherry red viper parked in the driveway. “Thought you said he only uses this to go ice fishing in the winter?”

“It’s his cabin Yura,” Otabek says simply. “He can do what he wants.”

“I don’t see any ice.” Yuri kicks rocks in the direction of the Viper and waits for Otabek to fucking say something. Say anything. “I don’t feel the cold. Do you Beka?”

He’s never met Otabek’s cousin before now, and when he shakes his hand it makes his skin crawl. Jean-Jaques Leroy flashes him a toothy grin and pats his ass when Otabek isn’t looking. Yuri tries to land a kick to his gut, but he’s too fucking fast and dodges it. “C’mon princess. Just funnin.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you Jean-Jackass-“

But his tirade is interrupted. “Otabek!” JJ takes him into another one of those strange and awkward embraces. The whole room stinks of alpha, but not in a good way. The air is thick with the smell of two people that don’t like each other, but don’t have a good enough reason to say why.

Yuri wants to go out for a smoke, but he doesn’t want to leave Beka’s side.

“I’m so glad you’re here! I actually have a lot of work coming up. Do you want a job? It’s a really good job. The money’d make your Princess so happy.” JJ’s voice makes Yuri nauseous.

“We’d just like to stay a few days and rest. Yuri’s motion sick from riding for too long.”

“Otabek,” JJ takes Otabek’s hand in his own. He grabs for Yuri’s hand too and holds them both at the same time. “My home is your home.” JJ turns his attention back to Yuri. “Do you bake bread Princess?”

“The fuck?”

“I made some bread this morning. Sourdough. Maybe it will settle your stomach.” He smiles at Yuri, and all he can see in the white of his teeth is mink fur. It makes him retch out on the lawn. He pukes all over Otabek’s boots as Otabek scrambles to hold back his hair.

Yuri doesn’t eat the bread. Instead he has a bottle of ginger ale and some stale saltines Otabek finds in the back of the cupboard. He feels a bit better after that. Otabek carries him up to their room like he’s a princess. Otabek lays him down on the white chenille bedspread like it’s their fucking wedding night.

He peels away his clothes like he’s fragile and made of glass.

Otabek’s eyes linger too long on his stomach. Otabek traces the line where his hip fades into his stomach, like he already knows. Yuri hates it so fucking much. He’d rather get gawked at by a pack of hungry meathead alphas. So, Yuri turns over and gets on all fours.

Otabek’s mouth is on him instantly. He pushes his tongue inside and eats him until he’s sloppy. “Don’t say it enough, but,” Otabek nips at the skin of his thighs. Otabek slips a finger along the crease of his ball sack, and it makes him wriggle against the bed spread. “I love you.” Otabek licks a long stripe across his hole and pushes inside with two fingers right away. “I love you so much.”

* * *

“What makes you think this one will work better?” Yuuri fills both of their martini glasses to the rim. He discards the silver shaker, and drops in too many olives, such that they spill over and down the thin crystal stem. His Yuuri doesn’t like losing, and he lost big time in the first round.

“It will work because I said it will work,” Victor insists. He fluffs out the mildew scented fur on his collar, and rests his hand upon Yuri’s thigh. Then, he downs the martini in two gulps.

* * *

Yuri dreams of when he had his first heat. Victor holds a cool damp cloth to his head, and sings lullabies to him in a soft voice. He soothes his hair away from his face, and tells him in Russian first, and then in English that everything is going to be okay.

Victor pulls up his night shirt, and peels back his shorts asking him, “doesn’t it feel better? To be out of those clothes?”

Yuri doesn’t remember if he actually stuck it in, or if he just fucked his thighs. What he can remember is laying on the bare nylon threaded mattress while Victor put the sheets into the washing machine. The feeling sent shivers down his spine, and made him feel sick.

He can remember burying his face into Victor’s discarded fur and waiting for it all to be over.

* * *

Yuri wakes to the sight of a single cherry ember in the black of the room and the sound of Otabek’s steady breathing. In the darkness, the cherry moves about, and Yuri accepts the cigarette. He inhales deeply. “Beka, I think I’m pregnant.”

Otabek takes his hands into his own. The feeling of callouses tracing his palm are familiar, and calm him down almost instantly. “That’s alright by me.”

“I’m not sure if I’m.” Yuri’s voice is barely a whisper. “Alright by it.”

“Whatever you want Yura.” There’s an arm around his waist, and lips against his sweat slicked forehead. Then, Otaek moves onto his mouth, and he can taste his own sweat on his mouth.  “Like I said, I love you.”

* * *

Otabek is out on the lawn changing the spark plugs on the bike. Yuri parts the thin lace curtains to watch him through the window.  He loves the way his biceps cut through the thin white tank top that he wears. He loves the way he peels the shirt away when he gets too hot.

Yuri rests a hand on his stomach as he watches. Otabek would probably make a pretty okay father. The question is, would he?

Yuri’s thoughts are interrupted by the intrusive feeling of being watched. Yuri’s good at knowing when people are looking at him. He’s been getting the _wrong_ kind of attention for years now. He’s used to the way his chest tightens with anxiety, but he’s also used to having time to react.

 “Sweetheart,” a voice purrs in his ear, and it’s that asshole Jean-Jackass! “You didn’t eat any of my bread.” When he feels a hand across his chest toying with his nipple through his silk nightgown, it takes him completely off guard. He doesn’t flail, he doesn’t kick, and he doesn’t start scratching with his long nails painted red. “You’re pregnant aren’t you? I can smell it.”

JJ’s other hand is around him, roaming across his chest, and pawing lower still at his hips. Why the fuck can’t he move? He’s such a fucking coward, staring at Otabek through the window while this dirt bag feels him up.

In that moment, Yuri’s thirteen years old once again. Instead of clutching at a mildewed mink fur, he’s watching his hand tighten around cherry wood molding. He’s watching his vision blur to an ugly green floral wallpaper.

“You know, growing up I was always so jealous of Otabek. He always had nicer shoes, a newer bike, better clothes. Now he’s got you. I guess things don’t change huh?” JJ’s palming at his dick through his night gown, and Yuri feels like he’s going to vomit. “Tell me you wanna fuck me Princess.”

“Go to hell!”

JJ scrambles for purchase on his body, probably to grope him more, or maybe slap him across the face and rough him up, he doesn’t know. Yuri leverages that split second to turn out of his grasp and race downstairs. He flies into Otabek’s arms. Immediately Otabek lifts him up off of the ground and steals a kiss. It’s then that he makes up his mind.

* * *

Otabek plays with the hem of his nightie, and he can feel his lace panties riding high up his ass crack. Otabek tells him, “don’t be mad, but I’m gonna do a job with Jean.

“Beka, what the fuck?” His voice sounds all rough and gravelly at first, but cracks halfway through to reveal a sob. Nothing good can come of any of this.

“We have $40 between us Yura.” Otabek cups his cheek with his hand, and looks at him so tenderly that he wants to deck him in the face for acting so fucking stupid. “We can’t keep living like this.”

“There’s no way any of this can go right,” Yuri growls. This time, his rage is uninterrupted. He lets the tears flow freely down his face. Otabek needs to know how badly he’s fucking him up. “I know Victor is involved somehow.”

“Jean is family Yura. He may as well be your family too.” If Otabek knew, He'd kill JJ too. He'd make what he did to Minami look like nothing at all. Yuri knows this, and Yuri very much wants JJ to die. He says nothing, because he very much wants to hold onto Otabek for as long as he can. 

* * *

Yuri doesn’t speak to Otabek much for the rest of the day. When they fuck, it’s raw and it’s angry between them. Otabek lifts him up and pounds into him against the wall. Otabek leaves big ugly marks on his neck with his teeth.

Yuri rakes his nails down his back until his skin is torn to ribbons, but no matter how much he begs, Otabek won’t put his hands around his neck.

It’s like they both know what’s gonna go down. It hangs thick and heavy in the air between them. Yuri much rather have the strong and omnipresent feeling of Otabek’s hands around his neck, than the tension that works into the little cracks between them and splits them open wide.

Yuri’s sleep is fitful and restless. Otabek’s is too. They wake each other up several times throughout the night. Although they cling to one another upon each waking, the comfort that they find in one another is fleeting.

Yuri dreams of making bread with grandpa like when he was a kid. His dream is vivid, and he watches the bread rise, and rise, and rise until it cannot be contained by the pan. No matter how many times he punches it down with angry fists, it rises again.

Everything happens the way that Yuri anticipated that it would. Yuri comes back to the cabin with three cop cars less than a minute behind him. His lip is split open, and his eye is blackened, but their lips touch briefly before he’s cuffed and carted away.

* * *

 

Yuri writes him every day. The first letter is written on thick pale pink stationary. He seals it with wax from one of the candles kept in the solid silver candlestick holders at the center of Victor’s dining room set.

_Dear Otabek,_

_I can’t fucking describe how much I miss you each and every day.  I miss your smile, cause you only do it for me. I miss the way you smell, because you always smell so good. I miss the way you rub my hand with your thumb. That always tells me it’s gonna be okay. I think I miss your dick most of all._

_I’ve decided to keep the baby. If it’s a boy I’ll name him Nikolai. If it’s a girl Nichole. I can’t believe that our kid will be five when you finally meet them. Be real good and try to get parole. Okay?_

_Love always,_

_Yuri._

Followed by,

_Dear Otabek,_

_Nikolai Altin was born today on October 30 th at 11:52 PM. Real close to you. He has dark skin and jet black hair just like you. He’s gonna give us both a lot of gray hairs someday. He has bright green eyes, just like mine. I’m gonna get a photo printed real soon. I just had to send this out tonight._

_Love always,_

_Yuri._

* * *

 

“You’re not going to see him are you?” Yuri can feel the terror and the horror in Victor’s voice as he speaks. He’s probably clutching at his prized white mink collar right now, scratching at his skin with perfect clear coated nails. “After what he did?” Yuri can hear the clink of Victor’s martini glass against the glass top table in the breakfast nook at home.

“Victor,” Yuri reaches into the back seat of the convertible and picks Nikolai’s discarded comfort blanket of the floorboard. He jams it back into the kid’s lap, and then mashes the preset dials on the radio. “If you ever try to fuck with me and Otabek again, I’m gonna fucking kill you myself. Otabek and his felonies will be the least of your worries.”

Yuri hit’s the ‘end’ button on the phone. It’s as close as he’ll ever come to cramming that goddamn mink down Victor’s throat. Whatever. Otabek’s been telling him lately over letters and collect calls that the best revenge is good living.

He’s just dumb enough and in love enough to believe it.

Yuri’s heart skips a beat…a lot of beats, when Otabek rounds the corner at the bus terminal and spots them. He looks naked standing there with his jacket tossed over his shoulder. He looks lost without Yuri there beside him.

“Beka!”

“Yura!”

They run toward each other. In the background, he can hear Nikolai fuss in the backseat, but it’s really hard to think about _anything_ other than Otabek.

Kissing Otabek is different now. He has a scar across his lip. His tongue silently asks him a lot of questions. Questions like, _who’ve you been sleeping with since I’ve been gone._  And, _do you still love me?_ Yuri can only hope that when he kisses back, he answers _no one,_ and _yes_ unequivocally.

“Beka,” Yuri leads him over to the convertible. He unbuckles his son’s belt, and opens the car door. “Meet Nikolai. Nikolai, say hi to your father.” Nikola waves timidly, but that’s normal. He’s like Otabek, and says more with his dark brown eyes and sullen expression than he does with words.

Otabek, determined to melt his heart, and get him knocked back up again right away, extracts a small stuffed tiger from deep within the confines of his leather jacket. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Yuri tosses Otabek the keys to the car. This one isn’t stolen from Victor. He got the jet black 78 Skylark all on his own. He put the leopard print decals on the hood, all on his own and felt super fucking butch while doing it.

Otabek fishes a cassette out of his jacket pocket, and Yuri has to wonder where and when he got it since he’s spent the last five years in prison.

He recognizes the slow pulse of the drum machine immediately. He looks at Otabek, and his mouth hangs open in a silent, “what the fuck Beka?”

Otabek responds with an equally silent, “what you think it is Yura,” by holding his gaze steady.

The vocals cut in as Otaek starts up the engine. Even over the purr of the V8, it’s unmistakable.

_“Mo-oments in love.”_

Time slows for a moment as Otabek shifts the car into gear, and then takes Yuri’s hand into his own.

_“Mo-ments in love.”_

In an instant, he’s eighteen again. It’s one of those wild crazy nights on the road and on the run from Victor. Yuri asked him in the throes of his heat why he didn’t play it in the club, and Otabek told him that it was the song he’d only play for his husband.  

* * *

 


End file.
